In the Hot Jungle Air
by SolarRose29
Summary: When Steve takes a hit meant for Natasha, Clint and Tony must work together to save the captain's life.


This is a birthday present for my sister! Love you, sissy :D

P.S. please leave all medical knowledge at the door-this is a work of fiction and as such, it is allowed to bend the rules of reality ;) Also, it is a bit yucky (not too graphic though) so the squeamish may choose to turn back.

* * *

"Nat!" Clint warned, loosing an arrow into the chest of an advancing guard. "Behind you!"

Dropping immediately to the ground, Natasha ducked beneath the baton intended for her skull. Using the momentum of her descent, she stretched out a leg, hooking it around her would-be attacker. A swift tug had him on the ground next to her and she easily mounted him, climbing onto his chest to grab his head and smack it against the concrete beneath them. His helmet protected him from the first impact but not the second one. Once she felt his body go limp, she rolled off him, preparing for the next wave of thugs approaching her position.

After accomplishing his task of preventing reinforcements from flooding in through the south corridor, Clint used his hand to take stock of his remaining supply of arrows, while his eyes scanned the level below him. As his fingertips brushed a trio of lonely shafts, he swore when he spied Dr. Alvarez advancing on Natasha. The thin glass tube fisted possessively in the scientist's skinny fingers sparkled as brightly as the teeth exposed in the mad grin beneath his mustache.

"Cap, I've got eyes on Alvarez," Clint informed his leader, feeling the bottom of his quiver rotate according to the buttons he was pressing on his bow.

"Remember, we need him alive," Steve reminded, voice sounding oddly metallic over the comm line.

"Copy that. Nat, behind you again." Clint carefully lined up his shot.

"I'm a little busy with what's in front of me," Natasha grunted, swinging up onto the shoulders of one guard, bracing her arms around his neck and kicking her legs into his companions.

Not bothering to reply, Clint gazed down the length of his arrow, minding his aim. Satisfied that the shot would not hit anything the Hydra scientist couldn't live without, Clint let go and the arrow sprang forward. A blur of red cape and gold hair rushed past, stirring up a current of air. The unexpected wind hit the arrow, sending it whistling in the wrong direction.

"Hey, Thor! Watch it, will you?" Clint complained, already preparing a second arrow.

An elbow hit Natasha in the left temple and the blow caught her unaware. Her grip slipped by a fraction. It was enough for the man beneath her to toss her off. She slid across the floor, her forward motion stopped only by a collision between her backbone and the corner of one of the many animal cages scattered around the room. She cried out before arching her back and lying still.

A bullet slammed through the roof above Clint, sunlight streaming in through the hole mere inches from his head. Reflexes pulled the archer into a crouch and he swung his bow around, firing on his attacker. As soon as the arrow left his fingers, he wished it hadn't. Reaching for his final arrow, promising himself he wouldn't miss, Clint watched with apprehension as the final guard and the doctor drew closer to Natasha's prone form.

"Come on. Get up, Nat," Clint urged.

Gathering strength, Natasha pushed herself up to her hands and knees dizzily. A hairy hand shot out from between the bars of the cage and a monkey screamed as it yanked on her thick curls. Natasha gasped. The back of her head connected sharply with the metal bars as the monkey tugged on her hair. Taking advantage of her distraction and relative immobility, the guard rushed forward, club poised. Clint cursed and released his last arrow.

"I'm out," he grimly stated, rising from his sniping position among the warehouse's rafters.

"You go through those faster than a baby goes through diapers," Tony observed.

"What do you know about babies?" Clint questioned irritably, climbing down a support beam as fast as he could.

"Pepper has a niece." The shrug was nearly visible in the billionaire's voice.

Grimacing as her sore spine protested when she twisted her arm around behind her, Natasha unsheathed the knife from its place on the back of her belt. She swung it through the air toward the paw in her hair, only to have it snatched out of her grip by the monkey's other hand. She cursed in frustration and curled her legs to her chest, attempting to reach the knife in her boot. With another outraged shriek, the monkey gave her hair another tug, forcing her into the bars again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Alvarez slinking nearer to Natasha. A spark of something akin to panic flashed to life in Barton's stomach as he caught a glimpse of what the scientist intended to attack her with. It looked like a test tube with a needle point attached to its end. And through the glass, Clint could see several horrible insects scrambling over each other restlessly.

"Nat! Look out!" Clint called, jumping the last few feet to the ground and taking off at a sprint.

Dazed, Natasha blinked uncomprehendingly at Alvarez. Victory lit the crazed gleam in the doctor's eyes as he brought the tube toward the woman at his feet.

"No!" Clint yelled, feet pounding across the floor.

The tube arched through the air, catching the light. Natasha flinched. Sinking deep into flesh, the needle point opened, dumping its contents into skin.

Opening green eyes, Natasha glanced down at her body, searching for the entry wound but not finding it. She looked up, confused. Red, white and blue filled her vision. If there wasn't a primate hand tangled in her hair, she would have nodded in approval when Steve's fist connected with Alvarez's jaw, rendering the scientist unconscious. When Steve's boot connected with the monkey's wrist, releasing its hold on her, she actually did.

"You okay?" he questioned, offering her a hand.

Shifting her torso to test the state of her back, Natasha determined the extent of the injury didn't exceed a bruise. "I'm fine," she replied, laying her palm in his. "Are you?" she inquired while he pulled her up.

"Held prisoner by a monkey," Clint tutted, jogging up to them. "That's lame, Nat," he informed her, subtly checking her over for any sign that she was hurt.

"Well, thanks for all the backup, partner," she teased.

He stuck out his lip in a faux pout. "It's not my fault I spent most of my arrows on the pack of rabid dogs guarding the front door."

She chuckled at his expression before turning back to Steve. "Are you okay?" she repeated.

Steve pressed a hand over the small hole in the side of his abdomen. "Nothing the serum can't take care of," he smiled reassuringly.

"Last I checked, the serum didn't take care of insects that got injected into your stomach." Clint crossed his arms, all traces of humor gone.

"What?" Natasha whipped her head around to Clint. "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't see what he had in that tube." Barton nodded toward the cracked glass cylinder on the concrete.

"It's no big deal," Steve shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Oh yeah. A mad scientist, who just so happens to be involved in illegal animal experimentation, stabs you full of creepy-crawlies but of course it's no big deal," Clint nearly growled.

The Iron Man suit dropped suddenly into the middle of their little group. "What are we talking about? I want in on the conversation."

"Cap's stomach is packed with radioactive beetles," Natasha summarized.

"We don't know that," Steve protested.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Clint bristled.

"I didn't say that," Steve quickly pointed out.

"Why don't we just start with what happened?" Tony suggested.

"Alvarez had a syringe of bugs. Steve got on the wrong end of it. And monkeys love Russian hair," Clint snapped.

"You want to come over here and see how easy it is to fight off Hydra agents with a back injury and a primate yanking on your scalp?" Natasha challenged.

"All right, that's enough." Steve broke up the argument. "I'm going to call Hill, have her set up a way to transport all these animals to a safe location." He headed out of the warehouse for better reception.

"What do you mean a syringe of bugs?" Tony queried.

Retrieving a pair of handcuffs from one of the pouches on his belt, Clint knelt by the sleeping scientist and clapped the restraints on less than gently. He scooped the tube off the ground and tossed it to Tony. Tony twisted it around in his hands for a few seconds.

"This thing was packed full of cockroaches?" He glanced skeptically at Clint.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "No, of course it was filled with some random drug and I'm making up the whole bug thing just to add a little drama to our boring lives."

"How can you even inject someone with insects?" Natasha wondered.

Depressing the top of the tube, Tony found her answer. "Like this." He brought it over so she could see the way the needle tip expanded into a funnel.

Natasha shuddered. "That's creepy."

"Am I the only one who thinks we should be concerned that those things are inside Steve?" Clint impatiently inquired.

An Asgardian-shaped shadow fell across the floor, preceding Thor's arrival. "I believe I have rounded up the last of the beasts," he proudly stated. At the blank stares he received, he added, "I secured them in cages."

"That's good, Thor," Steve congratulated, rejoining the group. "Hill's sending a team. They'll be here in a few hours."

"Are we waiting for them?" Tony questioned.

"Why would we? I mean, we'd only be leaving a whole zoo of monsters unattended," Clint commented.

"You know, I'm getting a little tired of all the sarcasm," Tony informed the archer.

"Welcome to our world," Clint muttered.

"Easy, fellas," Steve placated. "We've got quite a bit of time to kill. Let's not spend it arguing."

"We could while away the hours with a bit of poetry recitation and maybe a few massages."

"Again with the sarcasm, Birdman," Tony cocked his head. "What's your problem?"

"Steve is my problem." Clint shoved an accusing finger in the captain's face.

"That's something you don't hear everyday," Natasha observed.

Steve shook his head. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Right," Clint pursed his lips. "So tell me, why I don't believe you?"

After a second of silence, Steve turned to Tony. "Why don't you start downloading whatever files you can access from these computers? Get Romanoff to help you."

"I'm more than capable of downloading a few files on my own," Tony grumbled.

"I meant to translate," Steve amended. "Unless you've been holding out on me and you are actually fluent in Spanish." He raised an eyebrow.

Cowed, Tony allowed Natasha to lead the way to the only desk in the room and the pair of monitors sitting on it.

"Thor, start counting the animals. I want to know what kind we've got and how many of each," Steve assigned.

Thor nodded and strode over to the cages filled with various creatures.

"Barton and I are going to go find somewhere for Hill's plane to land," Steve told no one in particular.

He strode across the giant warehouse floor, expecting Clint to follow. When he could hear only his own footsteps echoing off the ceiling, he glanced over his shoulder. The sight that met his eyes made him sigh. Clint's feet were planted shoulder's width apart, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, while a stubborn frown was twisting his lips.

"Barton," Steve started, taking a few steps toward his uncooperative team member.

"I'm not going anywhere," Clint stated, eyebrows drawn tightly together. "Not until you get checked out."

"I'm fine," Steve insisted.

"You already said that and you're lying," Clint challenged.

Steve moistened his lips and glanced around the room. The others had paused in their tasks and were watching the exchange with apprehension. "Look, I'm okay. Really. And right now, we have a mission to complete. Now, come on. We need to prepare for Hill's arrival," he asserted, turning to leave.

"No."

The single word of defiance thundered through the air like the strike of a church bell.

"No?" Steve repeated, rotating slowly on his heel to face the insubordinate marksman.

"You can't order me around." Clint stuck his chin out and tried to ignore the sweat slicking his palms.

As Tony shifted uncomfortably and Natasha stared at her partner, Thor restlessly readjusted his grip on his hammer. Steve's eyes widened and he blinked at Clint. Clint, who always followed orders, who listened to Steve, obeyed him, supported his decisions.

"You might be able to tell the others what to do and they might be happy to lie down and roll over like freaking puppy dogs but you can't distract me like that," Clint declared.

A cloud of emotion darkened Steve's eyes. Whether it was anger, hurt, fear or a mixture of all three, Clint wasn't sure. But he pressed forward resolutely.

"Alvarez injected you with something and we need to figure out what it was before we do anything else," he stated.

"No, we need to finish what we started," Steve argued, fingers curling into loose fists. "Natasha, you're with me. Barton, translate those files for Stark."

Tony froze and glanced around, as if searching for a clue as to how he was expected to respond. Hesitantly, Natasha left the computer desk, taking small steps across the floor. She edged past the silently fuming Clint and slid behind Steve. With a curt nod, Steve began marching out the door.

"If Alvarez had gotten one of us, what would you have done?" Clint called after him, causing him to pause.

"He didn't so it doesn't matter," Steve deflected, without looking behind.

"We all know you wouldn't do anything else until you were sure we would be okay," Clint replied. "So why do you think we'd do anything different?"

"Because I already know I'm fine," Steve bit out, glaring over his shoulder.

"What makes you so sure?" Natasha murmured at his side.

Steve threw his hands up, exasperated. "The serum," he stated as if it was the obvious answer.

"I don't think they had scientifically-enhanced insects in mind when they designed the serum," Clint pointed out dryly.

"It's taken care of everything else." Steve shrugged. "I'll heal. I always do."

"Steve, there are living creatures inside of you and they were created to do who knows what to your body. I don't think we should take that lightly," Clint advised.

"He's right," Natasha joined in.

Pursing his lips, Steve shook his head. "We have don't have time for this. I feel great right now. Let's focus on finishing the mission and then we'll deal with any problems if they come up."

"But we know not what those problems may be," Thor interrupted, joining the knot of agents in three strides. "By the time they reveal themselves, it may be too late."

"You're right. We don't know," Steve agreed. "In fact, there might not be any at all," he added.

"I think I know someone who can tell us what we're up against," Tony called from across the room as he nudged the unconscious Hydra scientist with his foot.

"That's not a bad idea," Clint murmured. He hurried across the warehouse and knelt by Alvarez. "Wakey, wakey time," he grunted, slapping the man across the face.

"Barton," Steve called sharply.

Clint ignored him, scanning his surroundings for something to rouse the slumbering doctor. Spying a water bottle attached to a nearby animal cage, he sprung to his feet and yanked it free. In one swift motion, he popped the top off and dumped the contents onto Alvarez. The man spluttered into consciousness, coughing and clumsily wiping water from his facial hair.

"Listen up, ," Clint addressed his prisoner. "I need to know about those bugs you had in your syringe."

Alvarez merely glared at the agent. Clint sighed, as if disappointed in an errant toddler.

"It's been a long day for me already and I'd rather not have to force the answers out of you. But I can and I will," Clint threatened, casual tone hardening at the end. "So I'm only going to ask you one more time." He suddenly seized the short chain linking Alvarez's bound hands, jerking it up. Alvarez gasped slightly. "What were those things?" Clint growled.

"That's enough, Clint," Steve interrupted, stepping up behind the archer.

For a moment, Clint remained motionless, staring angrily at the scientist. Then, he grudgingly released him and backed up a pace.

Emboldened by the distance, Alvarez straightened and pinned Clint with a shrewd glance. "Which one of you did I hit?"

When Clint's eyes reflexively flicked in Steve's direction, Alvarez's face lit up with a cruel satisfaction. "So I managed to get el capitan himself." His gaze traveled triumphantly over Steve before resettling on Clint. "All that you can do is to say goodbye." Alvarez grinned wickedly.

"For your sake, I hope that's not true," Clint snarled, advancing menacingly.

Steve's hand on his chest stopped him. "Let it go, Barton. He's not worth our time."

"Ah yes. El capitan hasn't much time left. Don't waste it by arguing," Alvarez taunted.

Clint tensed, coiling his body for attack. But Steve moved his hand to Clint's shoulder and firmly turned the archer away. "Go help Stark with those files. Natasha and I will be back soon."

"You can't ignore this, Cap," Clint insisted.

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm simply setting it aside in favor of more important things," Steve informed him. "It's called prioritizing." He gave Clint a gentle push in Tony's direction.

Clint gave up resisting and finally went to stand stiffly by Tony's elbow. As he watched Steve and Natasha walk away, he couldn't help but shout after them. "Hey, Nat, keep an eye on him."

"I always do," she called back over her shoulder just before the two disappeared into the jungle.

"Since she is a professional spy, I'm going to assume that statement was literal," Tony commented, blinking up at Clint.

Clint huffed out an aggravated sigh and gestured impatiently to the computer screens. "Just hurry up with this."

"Hurry, hurry. El capitan's clock is ticking," Alvarez mocked.

Pointedly ignoring the Hydra operative, Clint focused on assisting Tony.

"It will not be long now," Alvarez continued, undeterred, knowing his audience was listening.

Clint kept his eyes trained on the monitor, quietly translating the text for Tony.

"Not long at all," Alvarez baited, sing-song.

The hand Clint had on the back of Tony's chair turned white where his knuckles curled furiously into a fist around the piece of furniture.

"Not long until the real fun begins," Alvarez taunted.

Tony, who had been shifting nervously through the whole episode, glanced up at Clint and frowned at the murderous expression on the agent's face. "Don't let him get to you, Feathers. He's just trying to distract us."

"It's working," Clint grumbled, scowling.

Alvarez's next words made both men grimace. "Fun for me at least. Probably not so much for your dear leader."

Tony set his shoulders with renewed determination. "Let's just focus on the mission like Cap told us to," he suggested.

A startling thump of flesh on metal echoed in the room when Clint slammed his fist down on the computer desk. "I am sick and tired of putting up with Rogers' crap," he announced.

Tony raised his eyebrows and swiveled the chair to fully face Clint. "I wouldn't exactly call patriotism and heroics 'crap'."

"Exactly. No one does and that's my point." Clint shoved away from the desk and crossed his arms.

"Okay, the only number higher than my IQ is the number of floors in my Tower, but even I can't figure out how that makes sense," Tony countered.

Exasperated, Clint threw his hands out to his sides. "Cap's all about the mission and doing the right thing for the greater good, which is all fine and dandy, except when it interferes with his own health. But he doesn't care about that and it's like he doesn't expect any of the rest of us to either. He just keeps giving out his damn orders and we're supposed to just keep following them."

"What are you trying to say, Barton?" Tony cut in.

"I'm saying that I'm going to start giving a crap what happens to Steve, even if no one else will," Clint exclaimed.

"Whoa, calm down, agent," Tony advised. "No one assigned you as Cap's guardian angel. Rogers is a big boy, he can take care of himself."

Incensed at the billionaire's patronizing tone, Clint opened his mouth to reply. Alvarez spoke quicker.

"If angels existed, el capitan would certainly be needing one now."

Clint slowly turned toward him. "Why?" he questioned suspiciously.

Alvarez's lips curled up in a spiteful smirk. "Because he's going to need a miracle."

"Enough with the vague ominous threats!" Clint snapped, quickly closing the distance between himself and the prisoner. He snatched the lapels of the scientist's lab coat, hauled him upright and slammed him against the bars of the cage behind him. "What exactly are those things going to do to Rogers?"

Alvarez grimaced in pain and shifted in Clint's grip, but the malice never left his expression. "Those were one of my greatest triumphs. The needle itself," he glanced at where the glass instrument lay on the floor, "is revolutionary. And the bugs," he gave a sigh of arrogant appreciation. "The bugs were my special project. You see, they are small and, how do you say it? Travel-size," he grinned, showing off a set of gleaming teeth. "Easy to transport, easy to conceal. Not so easy to detect. Or to fight against."

"If you like bugs so much, why didn't you just get an ant farm?" Tony muttered, dividing his attention between their conversation and the computer monitor in front of him.

"Not nearly as amusing," Alvarez tossed at him. "These insects are very particular. They've been bred with a taste for..." he paused, locking eyes with Clint. "Human organs," he finished, basking in the revulsion visible in the archer's gaze. "They're hungry little things too," he added, chuckling at Clint's horror. "I can picture it all. Just under the skin of your precious capitan, my creations are making their way to his internal organs. Then they will begin to feed, sinking their mandibles into all that delicious tissue. They'll rip him apart from the inside, consuming and devouring him. The pain will be unimaginable. It will be a slow, torturous death, with nothing but the gnawing and the biting under the surface. Where do you think they will start? His stomach? His lungs? Or perhaps his heart?"

Clint's fist shot out and collided with Alvarez's jaw. The man's head whipped to the side and he slumped, unconscious once more. Panting with anger, Clint glanced up. Tony was frozen in his seat, looking as if he were fighting the urge to vomit.

"I've got to warn Steve," Clint murmured before springing to his feet and dashing out of the warehouse.

Natasha swatted at a mosquito that flew too close to her face. "How exactly are we supposed to find room for a quinjet to land in the middle of the jungle?"

Steve held aside a low hanging branch so Natasha could pass by without injury. "There's probably a clearing big enough somewhere."

"I don't really like dealing with probabilities," Natasha commented. "In my experience, they rarely work out favorably."

"But there's always a chance they will," Steve reminded her, mounting a large tree trunk that lay across their path.

Natasha sighed. "You're frustratingly optimistic, you know that, right?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice," Steve acknowledged, lifting her over the fallen log and gently setting her down on the other side. He leaped down lightly to join her but stumbled upon landing.

"Cap? What's wrong?" Natasha inquired, noting the lack of his usual grace.

"Nothing," he reflexively brushed off, though his hand went to his side.

Natasha scrutinized him carefully and frowned to see the excessive amount of sweat dripping down his face, the heaving of his chest and the hand braced against his abdomen. "Nothing?" she repeated doubtfully.

"Nothing I can't handle," Steve amended.

"You're sweating," Natasha pointed out.

"It's a jungle, it's hot," Steve explained.

"You're panting," Natasha observed.

"Like I said, the jungle is hot," Steve reminded.

"Your hand's on your stomach," Natasha stated.

Steve guiltily pulled it away. Natasha crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.

"You're a terrible liar, Rogers," she commented.

He seemed to deflate at her accurate assessment.

"So what's really going on with you?" she insisted.

Gingerly leaning back against a nearby tree, Steve sighed. "I don't know. It's like I can feel them moving around...inside me..."

Natasha's eyes widened. "Alvarez? He really did have some kind of insects in a tube?"

Steve nodded wearily and his hand subconsciously went to his middle again. Natasha's expression softened and she uncrossed her arms, stepping over to join Steve.

"Those were meant for me," she confessed, not quite meeting his eyes.

Steve shrugged. "I think Alvarez would have been happy to get any one of us."

"You know what I mean," Natasha quietly corrected him. She gently settled her palm on his bicep, her version of a thank you.

Steve smiled softly. Then, his expression contorted into one of pain and he doubled over, gasping out a short breath of air.

"Cap?" Natasha questioned, alarmed.

With effort, he straightened and tried to force a grin. "Sorry, I don't know what happened."

"Maybe Clint was right..." Natasha murmured.

"I'm okay," Steve assured her. "Let's keeping looking for-" he interrupted himself with a hiss of restrained pain.

"What's going on?" Natasha inquired urgently.

"I don't-" Steve couldn't finish. He clenched his teeth and arched his back.

"Steve?" Natasha's voice wavered.

"Cap!" Someone called, voice muffled by the foliage.

"Clint?" Natasha looked around.

"Cap! Nat!" Clint repeated, louder.

"Clint, we're over here!" Natasha responded.

A crashing through the bushes and trees preceded the archer. He tumbled from the shadows, out of breath.

"Good, I found you," he managed to say, between gulps of air.

"Clint, what are you doing here?" Natasha queried.

"I came to warn Cap about those bugs," Clint told her.

Natasha shook her head sadly. "You're too late." She gestured to Steve.

The captain's jaws were ground together, teeth bared. The veins on his forehead and neck were swollen, while sweat poured down his face. His hands were clamped over his middle, just under his heaving chest. Clint swore and rushed over to his leader.

"Hey, Cap, look at me. I know what's going on," Clint told him.

Steve opened his eyes and glanced at him. "You do?"

"Yeah and it's not good," Clint said grimly.

"No kidding," Natasha mumbled, hands fluttering uselessly around Steve, wanting to help but not knowing how.

"Alvarez said..." Clint started but stopped.

When he didn't continue immediately, Steve prompted him. "What did he say?"

Clint braced himself against the terrible news. "He said those bugs he injected you with were created to eat people from the inside out."

Natasha's face revealed her disgust.

"What do you mean?" Steve queried, dread creeping over his mind.

"It means just what it sounds like. These insects target internal organs. Basically, your guts are an all-you-can-eat buffet to them," Clint summarized, feeling a fresh wave of anger directed at the demented scientist who had created such monstrosities.

"Okay, so how do we stop them?" Natasha asked impatiently.

Clint grimaced. "I could only come up with one solution." He slowly unsheathed his knife from his belt.

Natasha's mouth dropped open in horror. "No."

"There's nothing else we can do," Clint insisted. "It's not like he's facing a poison, where all we need is an antidote. There are living creatures inside him eating his organs, Nat!"

As if on cue, Steve yelped and slid to the ground. He was panting heavily, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. Natasha immediately crouched down and ran her knuckles soothingly against his temple.

"You can't cut him open in the middle of the jungle, Clint," she stated, tone dangerously flat. "You'll kill him."

"And if I stand here and do nothing, those things eat his lungs and his heart and he dies anyway!" Clint yelled back.

Natasha's eyes flashed. "How do you know?"

"Because that's what Alvarez told me," Clint retorted.

Rising to her feet, Natasha glared at him. "Oh, so now we're trusting Hydra agents to give us good intel?"

"When that intel happens to be the fact that Captain America is dying? Yes!" Clint snapped.

Natasha turned away from him. "There has to be a different solution."

"I wish there was. Believe me, I do. But there isn't and we don't have time to argue," Clint insisted.

Rotating to face him once more, Natasha pierced him with a searching look. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," Clint whispered, sincerity blazing in his eyes.

Natasha nodded at him once, before glancing to Steve.

"I know I'm not a doctor but I'll be damned if I stand by and watch those things chew on my friend," Clint announced, voice ringing with conviction.

A figure dropped out of the sky and landed with a dull thud between the two spies.

"Who's chewing on who?" Tony inquired, lifting his face plate as he inserted himself into the conversation. He caught sight of the knife in Clint's hand and his eyes widened. "Uh, Barton? What's with the knife?"

"He's going to use it to extract those insects Alvarez managed to get into Steve," Natasha informed him nonchalantly.

"Wow. You guys really need adult supervision. Without it, you get all kinds of crazy ideas," Tony asserted.

Steve's stifled cry of pain commanded their attention. They gathered in a half circle around him, alternating between looking at him and exchanging anxious glances with each other.

"So we're all in agreement? This is his best chance?" Clint inquired, fingering his knife.

"Bleed to death or get eaten alive. Yeah, those are great options," Natasha muttered under her breath.

"I might be able to help with one of those," Tony suggested.

Natasha looked at him questioningly.

"Jarvis, would it be possible to set the repulsors low enough to safely cauterize a wound?" Tony asked.

"It may be possible but I would not recommend such a course of action," Jarvis responded.

"Possible is good enough for me," Tony declared. "J, get the power levels where they need to be and then I'm going to pass you off."

"Pass me off, sir?" the AI questioned.

"You don't think I'd let Barton blindly hack away at our one and only captain, do you?" Tony didn't wait for a response. "You're going to help him. You'll run some scans, keep an eye on Cap's vitals, let Legolas know when he's slicing into something he shouldn't. That kind of thing."

"Very good, sir," Jarvis acknowledged. "The repulsors have been calibrated as requested."

"Perfect," Tony praised before reaching up and removing his helmet. He held it out to Clint. "He's all yours now, Birdman."

Clint stared at it.

"What? Are you afraid of cooties or something? Just take it." Tony impatiently wiggled the helmet up and down.

"Clint," Natasha reminded.

Clint shook himself and accepted the proffered piece of armor. "Sorry. I guess I was just thinking a little too much about what I'm about to do."

"Don't worry, Jarvis is going to be doing all the work," Tony reassured him. "Except for the actual slicing and dicing," he added.

Natasha swatted his arm.

"Uh, Cap?" Clint cleared his throat nervously. "Are you okay with all of this? I mean, you haven't really said anything. And, um, I'm not really qualified to be doing this," he trailed off, lowering his eyes to the dagger in his fingers.

Steve's hand reached out to enclose his wrist. "I trust you," he said simply.

Clint felt an immense wave of relief, followed quickly by a huge mountain of pressure. He looked at Natasha, searching her face for reassurance. She nodded encouragingly. Squaring his shoulders, Clint nodded firmly in return.

"Okay, let's get him ready. Take off his shirt and then lay him down," he instructed.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at Natasha. "Do you want any help or would you like the pleasure all to yourself?" he teased.

Natasha rolled her eyes and didn't bother giving him a response. She tugged Steve forward, pulling him away slightly from his reclined position against the tree trunk. Tony knelt down next to them and braced Steve's shoulder blades, while Natasha and Clint struggled to lift off Steve's armor. Steve tried to help them, but his movements were made clumsy by pain.

"Geez, this thing is heavy," Clint grunted as they worked his chest piece off. "How can you wear it all time?"

Steve smiled, despite the circumstances. Clint set the armor to the side and Natasha wrinkled her nose at the state of Steve's shirt beneath. There was a small tear where the needle had punctured and much of the material was damp with sweat.

"I think it might be easier if we just cut this off," she advised.

Steve chuckled weakly. "That will make this the third uniform this year."

"Yeah, but since I have millions of dollars for a replacement, who's counting?" Tony smirked.

Clint carefully slid the tip of his knife along the seams of the shirt. Together, he and Natasha ripped away the shirt. When they were finished, they tossed the material off to the side, out of their way.

"What is that?" Tony questioned, leaning over Steve's shoulder and pointing to his stomach.

Natasha followed his directing finger and bile rose in her throat. A small lump was visible roaming just beneath Steve's bare skin.

"I guess you know where to start now," Tony told Clint, swallowing his own revulsion.

Clint took a deep breath and slowly lowered the helmet over his head. For a second, there was nothing but darkness, and the only sound was his breathing echoing back to him. Then Jarvis came to life and the HUD flashed on in a blinding display of light and color. Clint blinked and fought to orient himself in the midst of the chaos.

"So? What do you think?" Tony prompted. "It's pretty cool, right?"

"It's more like being in a light-up fishbowl," Clint grumbled.

Tony frowned. "You don't know how to appreciate true genius."

"What am I looking at?" Clint queried, trying to take in all of the charts and numbers being displayed simultaneously. He turned his head, attempting to better see the graphs on the right side of the helmet. But the graphs rotated with him, keeping just in the corner of his vision. The archer moved his head again, hoping to bring them into focus.

"You're doing it wrong," Tony critiqued.

"Then why don't you tell me how to do it the right way instead of just telling me I'm wrong?" Clint growled.

Tony sighed impatiently. "Don't move your head. Move your eyes."

Following Tony's instructions, Clint was able to read the displays without having them slide out of his line of vision.

"Better?" Tony inquired.

"Yes," Clint grudgingly admitted. "But I repeat, what am I looking at?"

"Captain Rogers' vitals," Jarvis supplied.

"Okay," Clint said. A beat later, he added, "I have no idea what any of this means. I told you, I'm not a doctor."

"I will inform you of any pertinent information," Jarvis assured him.

"Shouldn't we wait for him to cool down or something?" Tony inquired.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. He's panting and sweating. A lot." He frowned. "That can't be healthy."

"What do you think, Jarvis?" Clint queried.

"Sweating is the body's natural way of cooling off," the AI assured. "And his respiratory rate is well within parameters."

"Alright then," Clint concluded. "I guess we're all set." He took a few centering breaths before getting into position.

"Wait," Natasha requested softly.

With his left hand holding the knife poised over Steve's abdominal muscles, Clint froze. Natasha slowly undid her belt and slid it into Steve's mouth. He clamped down on it gratefully. After he had it in place, Natasha moved until she was behind him, taking his head into her lap and running her fingers through his hair.

"Ready, Steve?" Clint questioned.

Steve nodded and shut his eyes, anticipating the pain.

"Here we go," Clint murmured under his breath.

The moment his knife entered Steve's skin, the soldier's entire body tensed. Clint grimaced and steeled himself, pushing the blade deeper. Blood welled up immediately, a liquid distraction. Keeping his focus firmly on task, Clint traced a three inch gash across Steve's stomach.

"The insect has moved," Jarvis announced. "Widen the incision."

Lips pressed into a grim line, Clint followed instructions. A flash of black caught his eye in the middle of all the red. There, just at the edge of the cut-a leg and the tip of a shiny abdomen.

"Stark," Clint called quietly.

He received no response. Trusting Jarvis to keep track of the bug, Clint risked looking up. The billionaire's face was a mixture of horror and revulsion.

"Tony," Clint repeated, louder this time.

Tony's head jerked up. Clint gestured to the site of the incision.

"Grab it," he ordered.

Tony's eyes widened. "W-what?" he stuttered.

"Hurry, before it gets away. Grab the bug," Clint demanded.

Shaking his head, Tony backed away. "I can't."

"You have to," Clint insisted.

Tony mutely refused, shaking his head again.

"I can't let go of the knife and I'd never be able to grab the thing with my bare fingers," Clint gestured with his glove-less right hand. "It has to be you."

"I can't," Tony repeated, distressed. "It's bad enough you want me to burn him once you're done. But this? Sticking my hand inside his stomach..." he trailed off, shuddering.

"Man up, Stark. Cap needs you! He would do the same thing for you in a heartbeat. Now, get over here and grab the damn thing already!" Clint snapped.

Nauseated at the prospect, Tony looked at Steve's face. The captain's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth crushing the leather between them. His cheeks were flushed, even as sweat ran freely down them. Natasha was speaking quietly to him, stroking his limp hair. She met Tony's gaze and he saw his own anger, helplessness and fear reflected back at him. But there was also something else smouldering in her eyes, something fierce that bolstered Tony's spirit. Gathering his courage, Tony knelt in the dirt and prepared himself for what he had to do.

"It's right there. Do you see it?" Clint questioned.

Tony searched the cut until he spotted the insect. "Yeah, I see him."

"Get the bastard," Clint grunted.

Inhaling resolutely, Tony plunged his glove through the blood and snatched the bug. He yanked it out and curled his hand into a fist. A vindictive smile curled his lips as the beetle's exoskeleton was destroyed in a satisfying pop.

"One down..." Tony paused. Dread made his breath catch. "How many left to go?"

Clint was startled. "I have no idea," he confessed.

"My scanners indicate there are three more," Jarvis helpfully supplied.

"Three more," Clint related to Tony, his heart sinking at the idea.

"Shit," Tony cursed, glancing sympathetically at Steve.

"Where are they, Jarvis?" Clint questioned, voice pitched low.

"I believe you can reach the next on if you extend this cut again," Jarvis told him.

Clint was thankful for the strange feeling of detachment the Iron Man helmet provided. The glass and metal, so full of lights and numbers, made everything outside seem distant. Jarvis highlighted a route across Clint's field of vision and he obediently dragged the knife further across Steve's skin. Flesh and muscle split easily under the blade, parting submissively and offering up a fountain of blood.

"I see it," Tony announced unexpectedly, his hand darting into the slit Clint had made. He attempted to grab the bug, but it slipped from his grip. "I need you to get me a better angle," he directed to the archer.

"How?" Clint questioned.

"I don't know. But the damn thing is right there. I am so close." Tony pulled back slightly to afford Clint more room.

Clint squinted at the wound. Then he saw what Tony had seen. A set of antennas was flicking lazily through the blood. Carefully, Clint tilted the knife, using the flat of it to push the skin back, revealing more of the insect beneath. Tony caught it and smashed it.

"Look at that, we're halfway done already," he pointed out, forcing himself to sound cheerful.

Clint grunted and surveyed the graphs and displays on his screen. "How's Cap doing, Jarvis?"

"Captain Rogers is as well as can be expected, given the circumstances," Jarvis replied. "Although not at optimal levels, his vitals are stable enough to continue the operation."

"Where's the next one?" Clint questioned, wishing for the end to the whole procedure.

"It is located to the left," Jarvis reported. "However, a second incision would be more prudent."

"Should we close this one up then?" Clint inquired.

"Indeed," Jarvis answered.

Clint slid the knife free, grimacing at the noises it made when he pulled it out. "You're up, Stark."

Tony raised his extended arm over Steve's stomach, palm facing down. "It's a good thing I wrote Jarvis' programming myself or I might be having doubts about this plan right now," he joked.

A single thin beam of energy streamed out of his repulsor. Steve shifted beneath it and let out a moan. Natasha soothed him, petting his temples and whispering gentle reassurances. As the stench of burning flesh rose in the humid air, Clint turned his head away, unable to stand being part of yet another source of pain for Steve.

"Done," Tony managed after a minute, gagging slightly.

"Let's finish this," Clint muttered.

He again followed Jarvis' lead and sliced a neat line on the other side of Steve's stomach. Tony leaned forward anxiously, hoping to spot their target quickly for a swift extraction. Clint's sharp eyes swept over the area, watching for the tell-tale black in all the red.

Steve suddenly jerked. The abrupt movement caught Clint off guard and the knife gouged an uncontrolled tear through muscle and skin. Shocked, the archer let go of the hilt. A fountain of blood bubbled up and overflowed, running across Steve's skin and splashing to the ground.

"Clint!" Natasha snarled.

"It wasn't my fault!" he retorted.

"You're the one with the knife," Tony pointed out heatedly.

Steve twisted again and all three of his companions ceased bickering.

"What's wrong?" Tony demanded.

"Jarvis," Clint barked, gingerly pulling his knife from the cascade of blood.

"One of the insects-it is attacking his liver," Jarvis informed him urgently.

"His liver?" Clint repeated incredulous. "How did it get all the way up there?"

"According to Dr. Alvarez, it is doing what it was engineered to," Jarvis supplied.

"What do we do, Jarvis? Cauterize this incision and go after that one?" Clint inquired.

"The other beetle is in this area," Jarvis reminded. "To cauterize the wound and then reopen it would be traumatic."

A muffled groan came from Steve, causing Clint to wince.

"What's going on, Barton?" Tony questioned impatiently.

"One of them's going after his liver," Clint grimly answered.

"We have to stop it," Tony declared.

"No, we have to get this one first," Clint told him.

Tony raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "No? Is the heat getting to you, birdbrain? One of those things is chewing on Cap's liver." He thrust a finger at Steve. "You want to let it eat him alive?"

Eyes drifting to the alarming amount of blood spilling out of the gaping wound, Clint replied, "Of course not! But we can't leave this cut to bleed."

"So I'll close it," Tony growled, lifting his palm.

"No! Then we'll have to open it again so we can get the other bug," Clint argued.

Tony stilled, realizing Clint was right. "Fine," he surrendered.

"Just do something already," Natasha begged.

Both men returned their attention to the task. Clint used his other hand to clear away some of the blood. He absently wiped it off on the front of his uniform as he leaned forward to look for the beetle. Fresh blood rapidly took the place of whatever he had managed to remove, obscuring their view of the wound.

"This is hopeless," Tony despaired.

Steve gasped in pain and Clint narrowed his eyes.

"We'll find it," he promised, tone deadly.

A minute passed. Then another.

"There it is." Clint finally spotted it.

Tony hurriedly retrieved it, crushed it and allowed the broken pieces to fall to the jungle floor. Ignoring the blood coating his glove, he set about cauterizing the large gash.

"Jarvis, how do we get the last one?" Clint questioned.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be easy," the AI warned.

"You think the other ones were?" Clint wondered scathingly.

"The others were not under his rib cage," Jarvis contended.

Clint's heart plummeted. "There's no way I can do anything to help."

"You must," Jarvis stated.

"No, you don't understand," Clint disagreed. "Anyone can cut up a stomach but things get tricky further up."

"You are his only chance at survival," Jarvis stressed.

With a wordless growl of frustration, Clint ripped the helmet off and held it out to Tony. "Here. You do it."

"You're quitting?" Tony gaped at him.

"The damn thing is under his ribs. That's beyond my ability to take care of," Clint explained tersely.

"What makes you think I'm the one to do it?" Tony questioned, making no move to reclaim his helmet.

"You're a genius," Clint snapped impatiently. "And Jarvis is your robot. I'm sure the two of you can handle it."

"Being a robotics expert does not make me a surgeon," Tony argued.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not one!" Clint retorted.

Tony crossed his arms. "You've been doing fine up until this point."

"Not really. Look what happened," Clint muttered bitterly, pointing at the long, charred lines on Steve's torso.

"That second time was an accident," Tony countered. "He was the one who moved. I can't say I blame him though. It's probably hard to stay still when there's a freaky, genetically modified beetle thing gnawing on your liver," he added. "Which is we have to get it out of him as soon as possible."

"Go ahead." Clint tossed the helmet and the bloody knife to him.

"Clint," Natasha called after him as he spun on his heel and started off into the jungle.

"What happened to giving a crap about Steve, huh?" Tony challenged.

His words brought Clint up short.

"You said you were going to start caring about what happened to him, even if no one else would," Tony reminded him.

Slowly, Clint turned around to face him. Tony met his gaze evenly.

"He would do the same for you in a heartbeat," Tony quoted the archer's own words back to him.

The barest hint of a rueful smile tipped the corner of Clint's mouth up.

"No one's better with a blade than you, Barton." Tony offered him the knife and the helmet. Clint took the items and Tony nodded. "You can do this, Clint."

"He's right," Natasha agreed softly.

Inhaling slowly, Clint donned the helmet and knelt on the blood-saturated ground.

"Time is of the essence," Jarvis stated without preamble.

"Tell me what to do," Clint requested quietly.

"The insect is currently between his seventh and eighth ribs," Jarvis told him.

Unwilling to take the chance that he would miscalculate, Clint lightly ran his right hand down Steve's side, from his collarbone to his midsection, counting each rib as he went. The skin beneath his touch was slick with sweat. Once he had found the spot Jarvis indicated, Clint paused to collect his wits. Tony gripped Steve's shoulder reassuringly and Steve's hand shot out to clasp his wrist. Not in need of his hand yet, Tony didn't pull away. He nodded at Clint.

Pursing his lips in concentration, Clint inserted the knife into Steve's skin. A sharp gasp slipped past the leather in Steve's mouth and the sound tugged at Clint's resolve. But the agent refused to allow himself to waver. He guided the knife carefully, holding his arms steady. When he caught the first glimpse of Steve's liver, bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it back. Steve suddenly let loose a wordless cry and arched his back, at the same time red lights flashed on Iron Man's HUD and alarms sounded.

"What's wrong?" Clint questioned, anxiously.

"It has chewed a hole through the surface of the liver. It has begun to burrow," Jarvis reported urgently.

New horror filled Clint and he paused, stunned. "Son of a bitch."

"You must act quickly, Agent Barton," Jarvis advised.

Numbness took over Clint's mind. Face blank, he angled his knife upwards and made a horizontal slice through Steve's muscles. Without pause, he peeled it back to expose more of the liver. Steve screamed, his voice mangled by the gag. Natasha bowed her head, touching her forehead to his and letting her tears wet his flushed cheeks. Tony tried to pull his hand free from Steve's to assist Clint, but found that the captain was holding on tight enough to dent grooves into the metal of his suit. With eerie calm and deadly precision, Clint stuck his fingers into the wound, feeling his knuckles bump against the hard edges of Steve's ribs. He didn't hear Steve whimpering.

He could see the beetle digging its way into Steve's organ. He grabbed at the monster, but it was slippery with blood. Undeterred, Clint brought his knife into play, directing the tip just under the insect. With the flick of his wrist, he pushed the bug up into his waiting fingers. He extracted his hands, holding the beetle between his thumb and first two fingers. With empty eyes, he increased the pressure of his grip until the bug's shell cracked and its guts exploded to mix with the gore staining his hand.

"...must be cauterized immediately." Jarvis' voice filtered into the haze clouding Clint's mind and he blinked.

"What?"

"To prevent fatal blood loss, the tear in the captain's liver and the surgical site itself must be cauterized immediately," Jarvis repeated.

Clint nodded. "Right." He looked to Tony. "You've got to close it now."

Tugging futilely on his captive arm, Tony shook his head. "He won't let go."

"Could you use your other arm?" Clint inquired.

Tony considered it a moment. "I don't think that's a good idea. It would be my non-dominant hand and the angle would be awkward."

Frowning, Clint leaned over Steve's face. "Hey, Cap. Listen, we're done. We got them all. But now we have to clean up and Stark needs his hand. You have to let him go."

Steve gave no indication that he had heard, eyes shut and expression twisted in misery. Clint glanced up and met Natasha's eyes.

"Tasha, make him let go," Clint commanded quietly.

She nodded and brought her mouth close to Steve's ear. "Steve, it's going to be okay. They're done. Clint pulled them out. They're out of you," she soothed softly. "But we have to keep you from bleeding to death. Let go of Tony." She traced his arm from elbow to hand, gently covering his fingers with her. "Come on," she encouraged gently. She used her fingertips to pull lightly on his, attempting to help him release them.

Gradually, he relaxed his grip and Natasha took his hand in hers, winding their fingers together. "There you go. That's better," she whispered. "And I'm here. I am right here, Steve."

Tony winced at the hand-shaped indentation in his armor. "I'll have to fix that later," he muttered.

"Hurry, Tony," Clint prompted.

Stepping over to Steve's other side, Tony knelt but paused.

"I think it might be a good idea if I had that back," he tipped his chin up to indicate the helmet.

"Oh. Yeah, of course." Clint quickly removed it and handed it to him.

Tony put it in place. "Jarvis, is there any way we can make the beam smaller? We don't want to cook his entire liver."

"An excellent point, sir," Jarvis approved. "I shall make the correct adjustments."

Once Jarvis indicated that he was ready, Tony began his task. He directed the tiny shaft of energy between Steve's two ribs. Steve moaned, turning his head away and pressing his face into Natasha's thigh. She renewed her steady stream of comforting whispers. The hole in the liver only took a second to close. Tony had Jarvis reset the repulsor to a level appropriate for their next target. Gingerly, Tony flipped back into place the flap of skin Clint had peeled away. The archer watched his every move wordlessly. Tony sealed the torn edges of Steve's skin, breathing through his mouth to avoid having to smell his handiwork. Once he was done, he rocked back onto his heels and his shoulders sagged.

"Okay, now we're finished," he announced, exhaustion creeping over him.

Clint got to his feet, staring down at the three crooked lines in Steve's torso. They were blackened in the center, but a raw pink at the edges. Blood painted much of his skin, some of it dried into rust colored flakes from the heat, while the rest was a shiny ruby liquid, rolling off the contours of his muscles to splash onto the dirt beneath him. Steve was trembling, every part of him shivering in restrained pain. There was wetness on his cheeks and Clint couldn't be sure if it was tears or just more sweat.

Abruptly, Clint bent double and threw up. He coughed and wretched and nearly choked. The fit took him by surprise and when it was over, he went to wipe his mouth. It was then that he noticed his hands were shaking. He blinked, watching the tremors. Tony came up behind him, sidestepping the mess of vomit, and grabbed his shoulder roughly.

"You okay there, Katniss?" he questioned, jostling Clint slightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," Clint answered, voice scratchy.

Tony gave him a final shake, eyes full of approval and pride. "Good."

Clint blew out a breath, craning his head to look through the tree branches at the sky. How long had the nightmarish surgery taken? He was about to scrub a hand through his hair when he remembered his hands were covered in blood. The sight turned his stomach again but he pushed down the nausea and picked up one of the scraps of Steve's shirt, using it as a towel. Without soap and water, there was no way to get all of the blood off, but he scrubbed away most of it. When he was done, he retrieved three more pieces of fabric. He handed one to Tony, one to Natasha for Steve's face, and the last one he used to gently mop up the blood on Steve's torso. No one spoke as they worked, although Natasha would gently hush Steve whenever Clint got too close to a sensitive area of skin. When they had cleaned up as much as they could, Tony flung the bloody rags far away into the jungle.

Clint sunk down to a sitting position, bracing himself against the closest tree trunk and propping his elbows on his bent knees. By this time, Steve had fallen asleep and Natasha's eyes were also closed, but Clint knew better than to think the spy had given in to slumber. Tony paced a few feet away.

Eventually, Thor found them. He crashed through the foliage and halted in surprise when he spotted them. "Ah, my friends! I have been searching for you."

"You found us," Clint replied tiredly.

"When you did not return, I took it upon myself to find a decent landing area for our SHIELD comrades," Thor related.

"Did you find one?" Clint questioned.

"I did," Thor asserted. "And Ms. Hill assured me they would be arriving within the hour."

"How long ago was that?" Tony interrupted.

Thor frowned. "I do not know."

"Jarvis, get me a line to Hill," Tony demanded, walking away again.

"What have you four been up to?" Thor inquired.

"Desperate surgery in the middle of the jungle without proper tools or training," Clint summarized.

"Oh. That does not sound pleasant," Thor crinkled his nose.

"It wasn't," Clint assured him, bowing his head and feeling weariness sink through his bones.

"Is the captain going to be alright?" Thor inquired nervously.

When Clint didn't answer, Natasha did. "Yes, Thor. He's going to be just fine."

"I am pleased to hear that," Thor remarked.

Tony joined them again. "Up. We got to move him."

Clint's head jerked up. "Move him?"

"SHIELD's here but they're about four miles west. It'll take them at least an hour to haul the medical equipment out here and then another hour to get him back to the quinjet," Tony informed him.

"We can't move him," Clint sputtered.

"He needs medical help as soon as possible," Tony countered. "And flying him to them is the fastest way possible."

Clint couldn't come up with a significant counterargument, so he conceded the point to Tony. "You're right," he sighed. "But," he held up a warning finger. "For the record, I don't like the idea of moving him so soon after the...procedure."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right. And you don't have to like it, just help me," Tony responded.

Natasha reluctantly released Steve. The captain was dead weight as they attempted to get him situated in Tony's arms. After much shuffling and rearranging of limbs, with assistance from Thor, they managed to find a position suitable for the trip. Tony tilted his head up, preparing to take off.

"Hold on," Clint demanded. "We're coming with you."

"You're not waiting here for SHIELD?" Tony questioned.

"No way." Clint shook his head, unable to explain his reluctance to let Steve out of his sight.

"Well then, hop aboard your yellow-haired taxi cab." Tony jutted his chin to indicate Thor.

The demigod willingly scooped an assassin under each arm.

"Is there a first class option available?" Clint muttered. "Coach sucks."

"Sorry, no refreshments or in-flight movies are available at this time," Natasha teased, feeling tired but glad for the normality of the banter.

"At least it's only four miles," Thor pointed out brightly.

Seven hours later, Clint was leaning back in a flimsy armchair, feet propped on Steve's hospital bed. On the bedside table, a styrofoam cup sat two-thirds full of tepid coffee, right next to the folder holding the mission report papers the agent had sworn to Fury that he would obediently fill out. Neither object appealed to Clint at the moment and he chose to ignore both in favor of watching the room's occupants.

Curled on the sofa her teammates had commandeered from the waiting area, Natasha slept. But Clint knew that at the slightest provocation, she would snap back into alertness. Tony paced the length of the room relentlessly, picking up random objects and fiddling with them before setting them down, only to grab something else. He was currently flipping through Steve's chart for the hundredth time. Having stowed his suit upon arrival at SHEILD's headquarters, the billionaire seemed smaller than before. If he hadn't been there to see it for himself, Clint wasn't sure he would have believed that the man in the worn band t-shirt and faded pants was instrumental in saving Captain America's life. The whole thing was going to be a hell of a mission to report.

The steady tempo of Steve's heart monitor suddenly picked up. Just as Clint knew she would, Natasha bolted upright and crossed the room to Steve's bed. Tony joined them eagerly. They all stared at Steve, waiting for some sign that he was waking up. Natasha quietly folded his hand in hers. Clint called Steve's name hopefully.

The response he received was the opposite of the one he was hoping for. The rhythm of the soldier's heart slowed, returning to its previous pace. Clint's face fell and he noticed his disappointment was mirrored in his friends. As silently as she had taken it, Natasha let go of Steve's hand and went back to her couch. Tony frowned and absently swiped a pen off the table. Clint resolved to be a responsible agent and finish up the paperwork Fury had requested. The fact that Tony had taken his pen was simply a coincidence. Oh well, at least Clint had good intentions.

Another quarter of an hour passed by and the room didn't change much in that time. Tony eventually set down the pen and Clint eventually picked it up. The archer spread the folder over his lap but spent more time staring through it than filling out the papers it held. A nurse poked her head around the door frame, checked Steve's monitors for progress, and left. When Tony settled himself on the arm of Nat's sofa and began channel surfing the muted television, Clint found himself distracted.

Which was why he didn't notice when Steve's eyelids fluttered open. The hand on his ankle was a little harder to miss and Clint yelped in surprise and retracted his legs. The commotion startled Natasha, who sprang up and lashed out at the closest thing, which was, unfortunately, Tony. The scientist was dealt an undeserved kick to the ribs, which sent him spiraling off the couch and he landed in a heap on the floor.

Natasha recovered first and lightly stepped over Tony. "Steve," she greeted warmly. "You're awake."

Steve nodded, running his eyes over her to check for injuries. Satisfied that she was unharmed, he moved his gaze on to Clint, who was grinning madly, and then to Tony, who was struggling to pick his body (and dignity) up off the ground.

"How are you feeling?" Clint questioned, scooting forward in his chair until he was on the edge of his seat, coming dangerously close to invading Steve's personal space.

After a moment's consideration, Steve smiled. "Not bad."

"Yeah, I'm fine too," Tony interrupted, planting his hands on the mattress to lever himself upright. "Thanks for asking."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Natasha whispered, laying her palm on Steve's shoulder.

"I'm good," he assured softly her.

"Good. Then I'm going to the cafeteria to get Bruce and Thor," she announced. "They'll want to see you." She leaned over and kissed his cheek before exiting the room.

"So the doctors want to keep you here for a few days," Tony began conversationally. "Apparently they don't trust that an ex-circus performer and a billionaire inventor can successfully operate on the world's only super soldier in the middle of nowhere with a just a knife and a laser."

Clint blinked at him. "Wow. When you put it that way, it really does sound terrible."

"Hey," Steve interrupted quietly. "I want to thank you fellas."

"There's no need-" Clint began but Steve held up a hand to stop him.

"Let me finish," Steve requested.

Obligingly, Clint and Tony stayed silent.

"It took a lot of guts to do what you two did," Steve stated.

Clint grimaced and Tony turned a bit green. It took Steve a moment to realize his blunder.

"Sorry, poor choice of words," he ruefully apologized. He lowered his eyes, sobering. "I know it wasn't easy. And it was probably pretty gross."

"Downright disgusting," Tony muttered, shuddering in remembrance.

Steve raised his head, looking them straight in the eyes. "So thank you."

Unused to such a display of sincere gratitude, Clint and Tony shifted awkwardly, slightly embarrassed.

"Yeah, you better be grateful." Tony fell back on his familiar humor. "You owe us big time."

Steve chuckled softly and sank back on his pillow. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

"I don't know yet," Tony admitted. "But I'll think of something!"

Clint just laughed.


End file.
